Too Late to Beg My Billionaire Ex Chose My Replacement, So I Married His Rival

Everyone envied me for marrying Julian Sterling, the billionaire who supposedly loved me to death. Until I came home early and caught him kissing an up-and-coming model right in the company lobby. What made it worse was that every sweet trick he used on her was an exact copy of how he had chased me. Turns out, I was never irreplaceable. If his love was just an act, I had no reason to play along anymore. This time, I was going to make sure he watched himself lose me with his own eyes. Seraphina's POV Julian Sterling’s love for me was something the whole city knew about. He once rented the entire digital billboard on the outside of a luxury mall just to project my photography portfolio. Anyone passing by on the street couldn't miss my name glowing in the sky. On my birthday, he tracked down a limited-edition vintage film camera from an overseas auction and presented it to me in front of all our friends, saying I deserved nothing but the best. At his company galas, he would raise his glass and declare to the room that I was the most talented artist in the industry. The crowd would applaud, people would whistle, and he would just smile and take it all in. Everyone said I hit the jackpot, marrying a man who carried me on his hands. I had crammed seven semesters of college courses into six just to finish early. My hands shook as I packed my bags. I didn't tell him when I was landing. I wanted it to be a surprise. The second my car dropped me off, I rolled my suitcase straight into the headquarters of Sterling Enterprises. The lobby was bustling with people, but I spotted him instantly. Julian was standing right in the center of the marble floor. Chloe Taylor, the rising fashion model, had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. They were embracing in broad daylight. He had one hand wrapped possessively around her waist. With his other hand, he unhooked the custom charm from his phone and clicked it onto Chloe's. Chloe giggled, stood on her tiptoes, and planted a kiss firmly on his cheek. Bystanders in the lobby recognized Julian and took out their phones to take pictures, but he didn't even flinch. I stood frozen by the revolving glass doors, my feet glued to the floor. Just the night before, we had been on FaceTime. He had looked at me with that gentle, tender smile, telling me he was counting down the days until my graduation, promising he would love me forever. I had believed him. After hanging up, I smiled at the dark screen for minutes and folded the cashmere sweater I had bought for him again and again. I didn't walk up to them. Instead, I pulled my luggage toward the side entrance. The heavy door was half-open, leading to a service corridor that connected to the private elevators. Julian’s voice drifted down from the end of the hall. He was giving instructions to his assistant, David. "Keep Chloe’s schedule quiet. Don't let Sera find out." David acknowledged with a quiet nod. "I promised to visit her overseas twelve times over these years, and I only went twice," Julian's tone was completely detached, as if he were talking about a stranger. "Long distance was just too exhausting. Chloe was the one actually beside me." My knuckles turned white as I gripped the handle of my suitcase. "If I had met Chloe first," he paused for a brief moment, "she probably would have been the one I married." The hallway fell into dead silence for a few seconds. David whispered something back, but I couldn't hear it. I had spent six brutal semesters grinding overseas, putting together four complete photography portfolios, with every single cover dedicated to him. I had sent him 312 emails. One every single day from the first day to the last, without missing a single beat. He hadn't replied to a single one. I thought he was busy. I thought he was suffering through the distance just like I was. Standing outside that side door, taking in every single word, my chest felt like it had been violently hollowed out. A bitter, icy wind rushed straight through the void, cutting deep into my bones. My heart was dead. I pulled out my phone, dialed a number I had saved, and held the receiver to my ear. "I need to hire a private investigator," I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. "I need you to look into Chloe Taylor. Dig up every single thing you can find on her."Seraphina's POV The investigator delivered the results two days later. A plain manila envelope containing typed dossiers and a stack of glossy photographs. Chloe Taylor, twenty-one years old, breakout fashion model. Three months ago, backstage at a designer runway show, a heavy lighting truss had suddenly collapsed. Julian had rushed in and pulled her out from beneath the falling steel. Ever since that night, he had signed her as the primary brand ambassador for his luxury malls, showering her with magazine covers and brand sponsorships, filling her calendar to the brim. Reading those words, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. That was exactly how we had started. Years ago in a photography studio, a heavy light stand had toppled over. Julian had thrown himself over me, taking the blow on his shoulder and leaving himself bruised and bleeding. The exact same move. The exact same beginning. I flipped through the photos attached to the file, studying them one by one. Chloe’s brows, the subtle curve of her lips when she smiled—she looked seventy to eighty percent like me. Even her habit of tilting her head slightly when posing was identical. Julian didn't love me. He loved a specific blueprint. Whoever fit that blueprint received his devotion. I was just the first one who happened to show up. The moment another woman with that exact same face arrived, he could swap me out without hesitation. All that talk of eternal devotion and unshakeable love had just been a lie I told myself. I returned to our shared villa. Everything inside looked unchanged. The limited-edition film camera sat quietly on the bookshelf, its lens wiped spotless. I pulled out the photo album tucked beneath the coffee table. Inside was the very first photo shoot we had worked on together. In the picture, I was crouching on the floor adjusting the aperture, and he was standing beside me, looking down at me with pure affection in his eyes. I remembered the day he placed that camera on the shelf. He had hugged me from behind and whispered that this was where our forever began. I remembered the photo he sent me later—holding that very album against his chest, chin resting on the cover, telling me it made him feel like I was still there. Back then, I was staying up late overseas finishing project deadlines. When I saw that picture, my eyes welled up, and I sent him a heart emoji. I had saved that picture to my phone. Whenever the homesickness hit, I would pull it up and look at it, convincing myself I could survive just one more day. That evening, the front door clicked open. Julian walked in. Seeing me sitting quietly on the couch, he froze for a split second before a wide smile broke across his handsome face. He slipped off his tailored coat and walked toward me, asking why I hadn't given him a heads-up, asking if I was hungry, asking if he should have the chef prepare dinner. He reached out to brush my hair. I leaned away, dodging his hand, and looked up at him with dead, steady eyes. "I know everything."Seraphina's POV The air in the living room turned instantly freezing. We faced each other across the coffee table in dead silence. I slid the envelope containing the photos and reports across the glass toward him. The photos captured him embracing Chloe in the lobby, unhooking his phone charm, and slipping it onto hers with undeniable clarity. Julian’s face drained of color. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, demanding to know why I had hired someone to spy on him, gripping me so hard his knuckles turned white. A red ring immediately swelled around my skin. I winced from the pain, but I didn't pull away. He seemed to snap out of it, loosening his grip, and instinctively rubbed his thumb over the red mark as if terrified of hurting me. I pulled my arm back and placed my hands flat on my lap. Guilt flickering across his features, Julian sat on the opposite end of the sofa. After a few seconds of heavy silence, the excuses started pouring out. He claimed Chloe was just the brand ambassador for the mall, that he had merely offered her a bit of professional guidance, nothing more. He insisted the modeling industry was ruthless, that rookies had it tough, and that as the CEO, helping her out was just business. "Business?" I met his gaze. "Transferring your personal phone charm to her in public is business? Wrapping your arms around her in the lobby is business? Do you want me to pull your travel logs too, and see just how much 'business' you two conducted?" Julian turned pale at my words, suddenly shooting up from the couch, his voice spiking an octave. "Enough, Sera! They’re just a few harmless photos! Do you really have to make a scene over this?" The moment he yelled, seeing the absolute void of emotion on my face, he slowly sank back down. "Yes, I do," my voice was barely above a whisper, yet it pierced like a needle. "I sent you 312 emails while I was abroad. You never answered one. I told myself you were busy. Turns out you were just busy entertaining someone else." Silence hung thick between us for a long time. "It was just one time," he finally muttered, his voice dropping low. "I had too much to drink. I thought she was you. Just that one time, I swear to God it will never happen again." He looked up at me, desperation creeping into his eyes. "Stop digging, Sera. Please. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. A penthouse, sports cars, company stock—just name it." I stared at this man. The same lips that once swore eternal love were now begging me to stop asking questions, attempting to throw cash at me to make me disappear. It was pathetic, and it was disgusting. My stomach churned with pure nausea, bile rising in my throat. "You make me sick." I stood up, walked into the study, and slammed the heavy door shut, turning the deadbolt. Julian pounded against the wood from the outside, throwing out frantic explanations. He swore he would only ever marry me. He swore he would terminate Chloe’s contract first thing tomorrow morning. He babbled on until his voice grew raspy, muffled through the thick mahogany paneling, sounding distant and pathetic. I leaned against the door, offering not a single word in response. Listening to his pathetic pleas, the only thing echoing in my mind was what he had said in that corridor: If I had met Chloe first, she probably would have been the one I married. Eventually, the hallway outside went quiet. I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down. Julian stepped out of the villa gates and quickly walked toward a sleek sedan parked at the curb. The passenger door swung open. Chloe was sitting inside, leaning over the center console to push the driver's door open for him. He bent down, slid into the car, and the vehicle peeled away into the night. Watching the taillights vanish around the corner, my lips curved into a bitter smile, and tears finally spilled down my cheeks. I stood by that window for hours until my legs went numb, before finally sinking into the leather armchair. That very night, I booked a one-way train ticket out of the city for three days later. This city, and this man—I was done with both of them.Seraphina's POV I sat in the study through the entire night. Julian never returned. When dawn broke, I washed my face with cold water. I intended to head down to the photography studio on the ground level of his flagship mall to collect my cameras and original prints. I had designed that studio myself, and my unmounted gallery prints were still hanging on the walls. On the drive over, a news alert popped up on my phone. The official account of Sterling Enterprises had just published a press release: The ground-floor art studio would be demolished immediately and renovated into a private runway training hall, headed by breakout model Chloe Taylor as chief instructor. Attached to the announcement was a high-resolution photo: Julian and Chloe standing shoulder to shoulder outside the entrance of my studio, smiling warmly at the camera. My thumb froze against the glass screen. By the time I rushed to the mall, a thick crowd had already gathered around the perimeter. Construction workers in hard hats were hauling equipment in and out. An excavator sat directly outside the studio doors, its heavy steel bucket already raised in the air. Security guards held back the onlookers while curious shoppers filmed the scene on their phones. Julian stood at the front of the crowd, with Chloe right beside him in a sleek athletic set, chatting and laughing casually with a group of lifestyle reporters. I shoved my way through the bystanders, my shoulder slamming painfully against the metal barrier, but the sting barely registered. "Why are you tearing down my studio?" Julian turned and saw me, his brows pulling into an immediate frown as he adopted an icy, professional tone. "It’s a corporate business decision. Your studio generates zero foot traffic and zero commercial value. It’s sitting on prime retail real estate without turning a profit. Converting it into a training facility benefits the brand." "That is my studio!" My voice shook with fury. "My cameras are in there! My entire portfolio is in there! The least you could do is let me pack my belongings!" "You’ll get your things back later," Julian waved his hand impatiently and turned to the foreman. "Start the machines." The construction supervisor blew a shrill whistle, and the excavator’s engine roared to life with a deafening rumble. I lost all control and charged forward. I shoved past the workers trying to hold me back, dashed into the demolition zone, and planted myself directly in front of the studio entrance with my arms thrown wide. "Stop! If you want to tear it down, you’ll have to run me over first!" Gasps erupted from the crowd. The excavator operator froze, holding the bucket suspended mid-air. The site manager sprinted over to drag me away, but I violently tore myself from his grip, refusing to budge an inch. In the ensuing chaos, the heavy mechanical arm of the excavator clipped an adjacent overhead lighting truss. The heavy metal framework shuddered violently. Bolts sheared off with a piercing screech of snapping steel, and the entire rig began to collapse directly toward the crowd. Screams tore through the air as people scrambled in every direction. Looking up at the massive steel frame hurtling down toward me, my instinctive thought was that Julian would dive across to protect me. He had thrown himself in front of danger for me once. He would do it again. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact. The heavy blow never landed on my body. A dull thud echoed nearby. I opened my eyes to see Julian throwing himself in the exact opposite direction. He had wrapped his entire body around Chloe, shielding her beneath him as the truss scraped past his back and slammed into the pavement. Meanwhile, the jagged, heavy end of the falling rig crashed straight down onto my right hand. Agonizing pain exploded from my fingers and tore through my arm, like white-hot iron tongs crushing the bones inch by inch. I heard the sickening, brittle crunch of my own bones snapping, and my vision instantly whited out. I collapsed to my knees, my right hand pinned beneath the crushed steel, crimson blood pooling out from between my fingers and soaking into the cracked concrete. The voices around me warped into a distant, muffled buzz. I heard someone screaming for an ambulance, Chloe sobbing hysterically, and Julian frantically yelling my name. I couldn't process any of it. My ears rang violently, like a thousand hornets swarming inside my skull. I stared down at my pinned right hand—the hand that had held a camera for ten years—now lying crushed and broken beneath the cold metal. The skin was already swelling into a grotesque purple, the fingers twisted at unnatural, sickening angles. It hurt. It hurt so badly I couldn't breathe. I tried to pull my hand free, but the slightest twitch sent a jagged wave of agony through my nervous system, dragging black spots across my eyes. I gave up, letting my forehead rest against the filthy concrete. The dust burned my nostrils, and when I coughed, the spasm sent another shockwave through my shattered bones. Men rushed in to hoist the metal truss, shouting, "Careful! Don't crush her fingers any more!" As the weight was lifted, my hand was finally freed, but all sensation had vanished from the limb. My body tipped forward, my cheek pressing against the freezing stone. Darkness rushed in like a pulled plug, swallowing my consciousness whole.